


Enfold

by swallowingstorms



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Dom Steve Rogers, Feelings, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sub Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 23:23:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14658390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swallowingstorms/pseuds/swallowingstorms
Summary: While Tony was maybe not be the last person Steve had expected to find at his door, seeing him was surprising enough to momentarily spike his heart rate.





	Enfold

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [into the fold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14492238) by [romanoff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanoff/pseuds/romanoff). 



> this is derivative of romanoff's into the fold (so like a second-story fanfic? i don't the know the accepted terminology here) and like most fanwork assumes some familiarity with the source material, so if you aren't reading into the fold, love yourself and do that, but here's the basics: after ca:cw tony is exposed as a sub and placed into steve's care, tony makes the transition as difficult as possible on everyone involved (but especially himself)
> 
> the premise in inherently dub-conny, this work only touches on it peripherally, but it's there
> 
> also, i know we all have a lot of feelings about civil war, but for the record: the stances displayed by both steve and tony in this story aren't totally honest and are more about how they can leverage what happened between them to get what they want out of the current situation

Steve woke up in an instant, the way he always did, and cataloged his situation. He was in his bedroom, the clock read 2:03AM, and he was awake because someone was knocking on his door. 

Sighing, he sat up and grabbed his phone off the nightstand, but there were no new alerts to explain his visitor. He attempted to smooth his hair where it was spiked up from his pillow, and quickly pulled on a pair of cotton sleep pants before opening the door.

While Tony was maybe not be the last person Steve had expected to find at his door, seeing him was surprising enough to momentarily spike his heart rate. Steve kept his face impassive, not wanting to give away his shock, or the surge of cautious optimism he felt. For a few days now, Tony had been increasingly irritable and snappish. Backsliding. He’d spent so much of yesterday in various punishments that, for maybe the first time since they’d begun his conditioning, he hadn’t had time to even set foot in the workshop the entire day.  The fact that he was here, now, unprompted, with the melted curve to his neck and shoulders he got when he was ready to give in--it seemed like a good sign.

Tony remained silent, frozen and flushed as if Steve appearing in his own doorway had given him a shock. He was glassy eyed and unfocused, Steve noted. He looked exhausted and fraught. Vulnerable. He dropped his gaze toward the ground when Steve tried to meet his eyes.

Steve waited for a minute or so. Tony didn’t budge, but Steve assumed he hadn’t woken him in the middle of the night to stare at his feet. He reached out and curled his fingers around Tony’s jaw, tilting his head up until his eyes met Steve’s own. “Why are you here, Tony?” he asked. “It’s two in the morning. You’re supposed to be in bed.”

Tony swallowed, and his tongue flicking out over his bottom lip. Steve’s eyes followed the motion, and he had to remind himself lift his eyes away again. Easy, he told himself. “I was,” Tony told him, voice thick. “I--I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t,” he cuts himself off, his face contracting in an expression equal parts wince and sneer. Annoyed with himself. “I couldn’t just lay there anymore.”

“So that’s why you aren’t in bed. Why are you here, Tony?”

“You said,” a desperate edge creeping into his voice, “You said you’d help. If I was having trouble with,” he braced himself, as if getting the next words out were a full-body effort, “with obeying, with your instructions. You said you’d help. You said I could ask you for help.”

“I did say that,” Steve tightened his grip on Tony’s chin, “Come on, Tony. Why are you here?”

Tony’s eyes were clearing, as if he’d stumbled into a fight, but had his feet under him now and was ready to start swinging “I’m here because I need help! I’m here for--”  Steve slid his hand around to press his thumb against Tony’s lower lip, gently silencing him. This could be it, he thought, or close enough at least. There was an opportunity here, he hoped, a turning point that Steve had been waiting for through the long days of Tony’s acclimation to his new role. If he played his cards right tonight, maybe when they woke up tomorrow they would be ready to move another step forward.

Steve often thought about what might lie before them, as they moved forward with Tony’s conditioning. Had thought about for years, really, since his first suspicions about Tony’s alignment, suspicions that he had dismissed as projections of his own desperate fantasies. He acknowledged his own eagerness, but refused to be impatient. This had all come together in an instant; Tony’s deception being exposed and then his being placed in Steve’s care. Steve would see this done right, however much time that meant Tony needed.

But he had waited so long already, he was not about to let it take any more time than truly necessary. Especially not when when an opportunity to push so neatly presented itself.

“Thank you, Tony, for asking for my help,” he paused, “in your own measure of asking.” He could see Tony realize his mistake in an instant, and he turned his face into Steve’s palm with a muttered apology.  “Don’t worry about it, this time. It’s good that you recognize what you should have said. It’s good that you came to me. I know you still like to think you have to do things on your own. This is progress, Tony.” Steve drew him in, hugged his shoulders with one arm and, for himself, ran a hand through Tony’s hair. “I’m proud of you,” Steve told him, and felt some tension leak out of the body in his arms.

“Come on in, Tony,” Steve turned to clear the doorway and gave Tony a little push to move into the room. “Let’s try to get you some sleep.”

Steve shut the door and took a moment to look Tony over. He was barefoot, absently curling his toes into the carpet, his hair just long enough in the back to curl against the collar of his t-shirt. “Take your clothes off,” he told him, turning towards a closet.

Steve grabbed a yoga mat and laid it out in the sitting area that dominated his suite, near where Tony was reluctantly, but without complaint, removing his clothes and folding them neatly.  He smiled when Tony saw him looking at the tidy pile. “Very good,” he told him, when Tony smiled back. “Lay down,” he gestured towards the mat, “on you back, eyes closed, palms down.”

He went into the open kitchenette, filled a glass with ice and took a bottle of water from the fridge. When he turned back to Tony, he gave himself a minute to linger over the sight. Tony’s fingers were tapping against the floor; they only ever really rested when he was under. 

He set the glass and bottle near Tony’s head, watching his eyelids twitch and tremble. “Why can’t you sleep, Tony?”

“I don’t know.”

Steve clicked his tongue, “Oh, I don’t think that’s quite true.”  He walked around to straddle Tony’s knees, stepping forward to place the toes of each foot delicately over Tony’s restless fingers. “Should I tell you why? Is that what you wanted, when you came here?”

“I don’t--” he snapped, eyes flying open, trying to jerk his hands away.

Steve applied a little more pressure with his feet. “Easy,” he told him, “lie back, eyes closed.”

Tony did, dropping his head back with a thump, mouth pinched shut. His body was tense and agitated and, Steve noted with some satisfaction, beginning to become aroused.

Easy, he reminded himself.

“How do you want this to go, Tony? Help me understand your expectations here.”

“I just--” he said, too loud, before cutting himself off. His jaw worked, as if the words he needed were buried deep and, like groundwater or oil, had to be pumped free. “I thought maybe, maybe you’d ... maybe if you …” He turned his head and muttered into the carpet, lowering his words in every way he could, “Maybe you would p--stroke my hair.”

“Okay,” Steve said, soft and quick, an assurance. He watched some of the tension bleed right out of Tony, just like that. Steve knew Tony was afraid of being laughed at, afraid that letting himself be submissive meant being the butt of every joke. Meant being taken advantage of. Sometimes it was hard to look at the evidence of Tony’s fears too closely, to think too hard about what he must feel like inside for such small things to comfort him so much. “We can do that.  You’ll take my bed tonight, and I’ll pet your hair until you fall asleep. But first,” he flexed his toes against Tony’s jittery fingers, “let’s talk about why you can’t sleep.”

“Can’t we just--”

“No,” Steve cut him off, “we can’t. This has been going on for a few days, hasn’t it, Tony?”

Tony gives a little shoulder bob, almost a shrug, but doesn’t answer.

“Did something happen? Tony? Did something change?”

“Everything changed,” he answered, deliberate and condescending. “Didn’t you notice?”

“We’re talking specifically about why you can’t sleep.”

“I can’t sleep because I can’t turn my damn brain off! I had an idea, and I--I got thinking about some things, and now brain is just trapped in this Mobius loop and,” a deep breath, “and I came here to not think about it for a little while, not to pick it open.”

“I thought you came here so I could help you sleep? Don’t you think you’ll sleep better if you address the issue, instead of just ignoring it?”

“I addressed the issue,” he snarled, “by coming to you.”

Steve hummed thoughtfully, “So, it’s a problem with me then.”

Tony seemed to hold his breath for a moment, and then abruptly his eyes flew open and he bucked and  bared his teeth, trying to jerk his arms free. Steve dropped into a crouch, letting his weight settle into the balls of his feet, and a little over his toes and Tony’s fingers. He used two fingers to gently press Tony’s head back to the mat.

“Lie back.”

“You’re hurting me”

“A little,” Steve conceded, “Eyes closed.” 

Tony clenched and then ground his teeth, but after a minute closed his eyes and lay back, panting lightly through his nose. 

“Thank you. Tell me about your idea.” He let his heels drop toward the group, the crouch was uncomfortable and undignified, but it released the pressure on Tony’s hands and it wasn’t like Tony could see him anyway.

“What?”

“Your idea, the one you had right before you started having trouble sleeping.”

“I just had an idea about the shield. Your shield.”

“I don’t really think it’s mine anymore. You took it away from me, didn’t you? Isn’t it yours now?”

“Well, if it belongs to me, and I belong to you, isn’t it a what’s mine is your situation?”

“I’m not here to take your things, Tony.”

“Right! I suppose my freedom and self-respect aren’t really things.”

“You weren’t being free or respecting yourself by pretending to be something you’re not. What about the shield is keeping you from sleeping?”

“Nothing! It just started there. It just got be me thinking about--about …” Tony trailed off, and Steve watched his mouth move soundlessly for a moment before taking pity on him.

“About Siberia.”

“Yes! And how it all happened,and how,” his lip trembled then, just the barest whisper of motion, “how I can’t trust you.”

“Can’t you?”  Steve shuffled his feet back, resting his knees on either side of Tony’s hips. His weight was balanced just over Tony’s thighs now and Tony’s cock, now fully erect, rose between both their legs. It was flushed, sepia, and wet from running drops of precum.

“No,” Tony says, barely more than a breath.

Oh really, Steve thought. His fingers still rested on Tony’s forehead, and he drew them down now, slowly.  “See, I think you’re trusting me right now.” Over the sharp angle of Tony’s nose, dragging over his lips, damp from his panting breaths. “I think you place a huge amount of trust in me everyday. Everytime you comply with my rules, everytime you expect what your punishment is going to be for breaking the rules--that’s all trust, Tony.” He let the pads of the four fingers drag down now, over the neatly trimmed hairs under Tony’s chin, pressing gently against the pulse in his throat. “You came here because I said I would help you--that’s trust, Tony.” One finger dipped into the tender hollow of Tony’s throat. Steve lay his whole palm down, dragging it with fingers spread to rest over Tony’s breastbone where, despite the breadth of his hand, rays of gleaming scar tissue stretched out from under his touch in all directions. “And look at us now, this is not so different from how we ended that fight in Siberia, but feel your heartbeat,” he leaned forward, just enough to feel the lift of Tony’s next breath. “Steady. You’re not afraid; not right now, not of me. That’s trust too.” He lifted his hand away, reaching for the glass of ice, the sides wet with condensation. “Trust is not the problem between us.”

“Well then, Captain, what is the problem between us? Please tell me what my feeling are.”

“Don’t spill,” Steve set the glass on Tony’s chest, steadying it with his fingers while Tony shuddered through the initial shock of the cold. Once Tony’s breathing settled, Steve reached for the bottle of water and filled the glass up to the lip. Some the liquid bled over the rim, collecting condensation as it ran down the sides of the glass to collect around the base.  “Steady,” Steve said, when a huff of Tony’s breath broke the surface tension of the collected drops enough to send a rivulet running down his ribs. He studied the different ways Tony shone in the low light, wet skin and scar tissue, and thought about how he might recreate it on a page while he waited for Tony’s breathing to settle again.

“I can’t tell you how you feel,” he said, reaching into the glass once it wass steady and smoothing a piece of ice between his thumb and two fingers, “only what your actions tell me. I know you trust me because that’s what you’ve shown me.” He gave one of Tony’s nipples a sharp pinch and Tony took a sharp breath in, sloshing water over rim of the glass. Steve watched its path down the glass, a fresh spurt of precum taking a similar, slower, path down Tony’s cock. He released his grip as Tony’s breathing evened back out, using his palm to spread the cool water down Tony’s ribs, letting his hand come to rest at the soft skin of his waist. “You could have gone to anyone,” he told him, dipping the fingers of his other hand into the glass. “You could have gone to Bruce. You know he’d do anything to make this easier for you.” He pinched Tony’s other nipple with his chilled fingers, but Tony was ready this time and only a new rush of precome joining the pool forming on his belly gave away his response. “He would have stroked your hair, no questions, no challenge,” Steve told him, bringing his hand down to gently squeeze Tony’s waist from both sides, before returning to his nipples with feather light touches from the pads of his thumbs. “He’d probably help you lose that ankle bracelet and disappear if you could convince him you’re really miserable here.”

“But you came here, you chose to come here, to me, and here you are doing so good for me. I know this is a hard conversation for you,” Steve drew his hands back to rest on his own thighs. “No, trust isn’t our problem, Tony. It’s something we’re still working on, sure. I know you still worry about what we might expect of you. We’ll need more time to develop it, but it’s not the reason you’ve been acting out.”

“I don’t--” Tony cuts himself off, pinching his lips together.

“Tell me.”

“I believe you, when you say you don’t want to beat me. That you’ll stick to the punishments you say you will, that I can avoid them altogether if I obey. But I don’t … you won’t tell me things. Things that I should know.”

“Don’t I get to decide, now? What you should know?”

“That’s worse, Steve!” Tony’s head came up quickly, eyes flashing, putting a slight bow in his body. The glass teetered but remained upright. “Can’t you see how that’s worse to me?”

“Easy, Tony, don’t spill,” Steve set just his fingertips against Tony’s ribs, a gentle reminder. “Eyes closed. You’re right.”

“I’m--I’m what?” When Steve just held his gaze, he let his eyes slide closed. Safely out of his view, Steve let himself smile. Bingo, he thought. Tony needed so much discipline at this stage, such a rigid structure, that there was little room for concessions. An opportunity like this, to let Tony’s feelings prevail with Steve in absolute control of the consequences, it could have a big payoff down the line. This was the most obvious point of contention between, but Steve had all but given up on it, thinking Tony had decided on his own to let it go. Steve supposed, nursing the grudge probably felt like one way he could cling to the way he had controlled his life in the past.

“You’re right,” Steve considered his next words, wondering how thick to lay it on. “You were right to be angry with me. You like to hold on to that don’t you? You find yourself falling into the routine I’ve set for you, you feel good about it but you still think you shouldn’t, so you need to give yourself a reason to push back. You remind yourself I made a decision about what was in your best interests before, and I was wrong.” Steve leaned down to speak low into Tony’s ear, “Does it make things easier for you, to hear me call it a mistake?”

“I just--I didn’t even know they were murdered. I always thought--I always blamed my dad. And,” Tony swallowed, and Steve watched the notch in his throat dip and rise, “I didn’t expect it, from you.”

“We have plenty of mistakes between us, Tony. I’m sorry this one of mine hurt you so badly, that you’re now forced to fall under my rules while you’re still wounded by it. But Tony,” Steve sat up and laid his palms against Tony’s ribs, applying a tender pressure, “the only way we move forward is by getting past it. So if you don’t think you can forgive me, then I should probably leave and let someone else take my role here, with you. Would you like me to leave, Tony? Do you need some space?”

“No!” Tony snapped his head to each side, a single vicious shake. “Don’t make me start this over with someone new.”

“It could be one of the others.” Tony just shook his head again. “Okay then, what do you want, Tony? What does your forgiveness cost? Do you want to punish me?” Steve drew a finger through the pooled condensation at the base of glass, used it to trace idle patterns across Tony’s chest. “Whip me? Do you want me on my knees? Should I crawl for you?”

“I don’t,” a deep breath, “I don’t think I want that.”

“Then what do you want? You’re not sure yourself, are you?”

Tony’s silence is answer enough.

“When you know what you need from me, you’ll come to me won’t you, Tony? We can discuss it.”

Tony is silent and still for a long moment, then gives a sharp nod, then two more in quick succession. “Yeah.”

“For now, should I make you an offering?” Steve dragged his fingers down, then through the collected precum low on Tony’s belly, smearing it around the base of Tony’s cock and down to his perineum. “A gesture of my regret. An olive branch, if you will.” He adds a little pressure, feels the soft skin under his fingers, the weight of Tony’s sac against his knuckles. “Is that a start you can make with me?”

Tony took a stuttered breath, “Yeah, I’d--” His throat clicked low, a cut-off gulp or an almost sob. “We should try that.”

Steve smiled, pleased and victorious, “I think so too.” Tony’s cock was sticky with drying precum, but there was enough fresh to give Steve the slick grip he needed. “You used to do this for yourself, didn’t you? When you were trying to take care of yourself? You needed to sleep,  you needed some touch, you needed to get out of your head … I got you this time, sweetheart.” Steve curled his free hand around Tony’s ribs, a gentle reminder to keep him steady. “You don’t have to do it for yourself anymore.”

He took several long pulls with his slick hand, a soft turn of the wrist at the top to turn the knuckle of his thumb into the tender divot under the head. It should have been too slow to draw much of a response, but Tony was exhausted, emotional, on edge. His hands  were all tension, his fingers trembling bridges over the carpet, and what might have be tears refracted the light at the corner of his eyes. There would be other nights to take it slow, but for tonight Tony had had enough dragged out of him. He gently rolled Tony’s balls in his palm, letting his fingers stroke the soft skin behind them before turning his knuckles in to apply a pulsing pressure. Tony’s breathing was rising in volume, coming in careful, weighted huffs. “Don’t spill,” Steve reminds him, walking his knees back to bring his mouth down and suckle gently at the head. A beat of silence fell as Tony held his breath in response, fighting for control, before a gasping sob crept out. His breath came faster now, but when Steve flicked his eyes up he saw the rise and fall of his chest was still smooth and careful.

He ground harder with his knuckles and stroked with his tongue, letting it curl around the weight, as he slid his head down. He’d hardly reached the base, his nose just just brushing against the coarse curls around it, when Tony gave a bitten off cry and came. Steve took him into the back of his throat and swallowed until he heard a whimper. He pulled off and sat up, licking the traces of Tony’s spend from his lips and watching the careful heaving of his chest. He set the glass aside, telling Tony, “There you go, sweetheart, there you go, you can relax now.” He drew his fingers over Tony’s thighs to feel the trembling aftershocks, giving himself a moment to just enjoy Tony like this, quiet and overcome. He leaned forward and planted an elbow to one side of Tony’s face, splaying his hand across the other to feel the laxity in his jaw and neck. He told himself not to, but pressed a chaste kiss to Tony’s lips anyway, lingering a just little too long. Tony’s mouth was parted, panting, and Steve drew his bottom lip with him as he pulled away. Easy, he reminded himself, pushing down the heat in his belly.

“No mess,” he told Tony, his voice gravelly to his own ears, “Should we get you to bed?” Tony’s eyes blinked open and, heavy, slid closed again. His mouth moved soundlessly, once, which Steve took as an affirmative.

Moving to the side, Steve slid his arms underneath him, tucking Tony against his chest and then into the bed where the covers were still thrown back from when Tony had awakened him an hour ago. He sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Tony’s hair, as promised. Quiet, even to his ears, he told him, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Tony cleared his throat and then opened his eyes, laboriously, deliberately, and looked at Steve. “Thank you,” he said, low but clear, eyes closed again and fast asleep almost before the words were out of his mouth.

Steve lingered a few minutes, watching the dark curls slip through his fingers and reminding himself why it’s too soon slip into the bed himself, to spoon up behind Tony and press his lips into the tender hollow behind his ear. Early days.

**Author's Note:**

> [atumblin](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ferrousmanibus)


End file.
